


Through A Crystal Crack'd

by BigSciencyBrain



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And Dr. Strange, Gen, the rest of the Avengers are there too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigSciencyBrain/pseuds/BigSciencyBrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A familiar voice cries for help through the static of an old radio and Steve, disillusioned and unsure of his role as Captain America, must risk everything to save them.  When he discovers it is Loki who needs his help, he finds himself at odds with the Avengers and with Asgard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beautiful [ art](http://hildestark.livejournal.com/1519.html) by Hildestark!

Steve Rogers’ old radio was out of place in Stark Tower.

Even with a clear signal, the sound was scratchy, a little tinny, and there was a noticeable buzz from the obsolete electronics inside. It wasn’t a copy made to salve nostalgia for a bygone era, it was a genuine antique. SHIELD couldn’t be beat when it came to finding pieces of the past.

After all, they’d found him.

Tony bought Steve a Bose™ radio. Steve added that to the electronics in the common gathering area for all of the Avengers and kept the battered old radio in his suite. Most of the time nothing but static, peppered with bits of music and voices, came out of the speaker; he didn’t mind. 

He was just as out of place in Stark Tower.

After the Chitauri, after the world began to settle into something that felt like a routine again and the rubble was cleared from the streets of New York, Steve found himself lying on the bed and listening to the static for hours every night. Bruce encouraged him, saying white noise would help him sleep. It didn’t, but Steve found it soothing nonetheless. His days were filled with SHIELD briefings, SHIELD training, and, in the rare moments that he was left alone, filled with struggling to learn about everything that had happened in the seventy years that he’d slept. But his nights were filled with the static of the old radio.

Sometimes, he imagined that he heard the static during the day as well. Since it seemed to happen most often during SHIELD briefings, he brushed it off.

The whole world sounded like static sometimes.

Pepper helped him get a library card for the New York Public Library; the regal lions and sweeping archways felt more like home to him than the metal and glass of Stark Tower. He kept meticulous track of the books that he’d read and what he still needed to read. JARVIS provided lists of great novels written in the past seventy years, as well as recommendations for non-fiction that would help him slowly step his way through the world’s history. Graciously, Pepper had the lists printed out and bound into a booklet so he could carry it with him in the worn canvas backpack he’d found at a second hand store. Each time he finished one of the books on the list, he neatly crossed out the title with a black marker.

He liked the library because everyone was there for the books. He didn’t bother them and they didn’t bother him. Only rarely did someone recognize him; most of them were barely in high school and wide-eyed with their own dreams of changing the world. He signed whatever they pressed awkwardly into his hands and told them to keep their chins up.

“What was it like to be frozen?” a slightly chubby boy asked one afternoon, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Cold,” Steve answered automatically. He scrawled his signature on the cover of the glossy comic book and handed it back. “I don’t remember much. Like being asleep.”

“Did you have dreams?”

Steve smiled stiffly. “You’d better get going, son, or you’ll miss the bus back to school.”

The boy clasped the comic book tightly to his chest, beaming with pride. “Thanks, Captain America!”

Steve couldn’t concentrate on the book he’d been trying to read before the boy had interrupted him. He stared blankly down at the neatly printed notes he’d taken of important dates and events. His own disappearance was on the list; he didn’t think it deserved to be there. Compared to everything else that had happened, Captain America was simply a relic that SHIELD dug out of the ice. The tip of the pencil lead dug into the paper, his eyes refusing to focus on the letters and numbers. He’d been presumed dead, even legally declared dead, long before they’d found him entombed in the shattered glacier. He remembered darkness; remembered being swallowed up by the ice as though he’d gone down the throat of an enormous creature rising up from the bottom of the sea.

The pencil lead snapped loudly in the silence of library.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he took several deep breaths to slow his racing heartbeat. He dug into his pack for the pencil sharpener; the motion of twisting the pencil within the barrel and shaving off thin slices of wood and graphite soothed him. He took care to perfect the pencil’s tip before collecting all of the shavings in his hand and carrying them to the nearest trash bin. On his way, he saw two young women sitting at a table, watching him and whispering to each other. He looked away quickly and hurried back to his table in the corner. He felt safer with a solid wall at his back and a pile of books between him and everyone else.

The next book on his list was about something called the Cold War.

Days went by, blurring together into a stream of words and images that left him feeling even more lost than he’d been while he was trapped in the ice. He read about everything from the nuclear bombs dropped on Japan – how was that any different than what Schmidt had attempted to do? – to Hurricane Katrina before he couldn’t take anymore. Despite wanting to know what had happened while he was asleep, he put aside the non-fiction list and stuck to fiction and poetry. 

Too much had changed; he didn’t belong in this new world. He was obsolete.

After one afternoon at the library, he carefully stowed his list of books in the canvas pack and headed out. It had been sunny when he’d arrived at the library and he was surprised to see heavy clouds hanging above him like strokes of charcoal. Thunderstorms rolled in from the south, wild and racing, and the rain came without warning. He ran the last several blocks to Stark Tower and still shed water in handfuls as he entered the lobby. With an apologetic look toward the security guards and receptionist, he slunk toward the elevator and tried not to drip on the expensive rugs.

It was a relief when he could finally close his door behind him and know that he was alone. No clamoring for autographs, no missions from SHIELD, just stillness and solitude.

The static of the old radio buzzed quietly. He thought about trying to fiddle with the knob until he found a relatively clear station, but that thought was forgotten as he shed his wet clothes and pulled on a set of warm, dry jeans and a fresh t-shirt. Padding barefoot over the carpet, he settled into the leather armchair and toweled at his wet hair. On the small table beside him, the old radio crackled and sputtered with intermittent bursts of sound.

The first time he heard it, he thought it was only his imagination. After the third time, he stared down at the radio with a mix of shock and horror. Buried in the static, faint and garbled but unmistakable, was a voice.

_“Help me.”_


	2. Chapter 2

“Tony,” Pepper began in the tone of voice that meant he was about to promise her something that would inevitably make his life more complicated. Her fingernails drew light, casual tracks over his chest. A lock of her hair was tickling the side of his neck but he couldn’t bring himself to move enough to brush it away.

“Mmm,” he answered, eyes still closed.

“I’m worried about Steve.”

Tony craned his neck to look at her. “The nearly indestructible super soldier? Or some other Steve.”

She swatted his shoulder playfully. “I’m serious.”

“He’s fine.” He closed both eyes again and settled deeper into the pillows and blankets beneath them.

“Tony.”

He took a deep breath. “What do you want me to do? Buy him a girlfriend?”

“It’s not that.” She shifted, pushing herself up onto one elbow. The look on her face was a reminder that she both loved him and could kick his ass six ways to Sunday. “He spends all of his time alone. He barely even talks to anyone anymore.”

“He’s got a lot to catch up on.”

“It’s more than that, Tony. Something’s wrong, I know it.”

“You know it?” He smiled as he reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You know what I know? I know that you are an amazing woman. Except for the part where you’re in bed with me and talking about Steve.”

She caught his hand and leaned in to press her lips against his in a slow, delicate kiss. “Promise me that you will find out what’s going on with him.”

“If I promise, will you promise to never again mention Steve Rogers while we’re in bed together?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

Tony wrapped his arms tightly around her. “I should’ve made you promise not to think of him at all in bed.”

Her smile widened. “You know that my heart belongs to you.”

“And, really, I have more experience in the bedroom. You have to give me that. Cap is a ninety year old virgin. He wouldn’t know what to do with a woman even if I found him one that came with instructions. They don’t, do they? Come with instructions. You haven’t been holding out on me, have you?” He stopped when Pepper lowered her head against his neck and, still smiling, pressed soft kisses down his throat. 

“Thank you, Tony,” she whispered against his skin. The heat of her breath and the barest brush of her lips made him shiver. Of course, she knew that.

He put the request out of his mind to focus on more Pepper-centric activities and it was several days before JARVIS patiently reminded him of her request.

“What have I told you about eavesdropping in the bedroom?” Tony asked absently. He was reluctant to pull himself away from the simulations running for the propulsion modifications to the Iron Man suit, but he doubted JARVIS would have reminded him without Pepper’s prompting.

“Apologies, sir.” JARVIS never sounded apologetic. “I believe that remaining in Miss Potts’ good graces is of greater importance.”

Tony couldn’t disagree with that. He pushed away from the display screen and headed for the elevator. The simulations could keep running without him watching and it was only a couple floors up to where the Avengers had set up their home base. It would take him ten minutes, at the most, to give Captain Wonder-Bread the once over and make sure he was still adding two and two and getting four. On the ride up, his stomach growled and he realized that he’d forgotten to eat lunch.

The residential floor of Stark Tower, or the Superhero Frat House according to sometimes Director of SHIELD Maria Hill, was an open concept layout with a common living and kitchen space. Off of the common space were suites for each of the Avengers who didn’t own real estate in New York City. Most of the time, that meant Steve and Bruce, but Natasha and Clint had started crashing there more often than not. As long as it kept them in an easily accessible location if SHIELD needed them, Director Fury didn’t care where the Black Widow and Hawkeye spent their time. At the moment, Natasha was the only member of the team hanging out in the living area.

“Agent Romanoff.” Tony winked as he strolled into the kitchen, heading for the refrigerator.

“Stark.”

“Is the Star-Spangled Man around?” Tony sifted through a pile of plastic containers, trying to determine what was inside from the color and vague shapes. Finally, he checked one of them and was relieved to discover extra cheesy lasagna. He shucked off the lid and tossed the container into the microwave. Natasha was still there when he turned around, but her focus was on the doorway across the living room. He realized that she’d never answered his question. “Natasha?”

She seemed to shake herself loose from whatever she’d been concentrating on. “He’s in his room.”

Alarm bells went off in the back of Tony’s mind. Natasha sounded uneasy and anything that made the Black Widow uneasy was definitely going to be trouble. “Anything strange going on with our illustrious Captain?”

She hesitated, which wasn’t a good sign either. “I figured he was just having a hard time adjusting.”

Tony let his gaze drift to Steve’s door as he waited for the microwave to ding. Natasha pulled out two chairs and took a seat at the table. The water bottle in her hand was half empty and she was staring at it, the barest hint of a frown on her lips. When the lasagna was done, Tony dug a fork from one of the drawers and took the seat next to her. They sat in silence for several minutes, Tony shoveling lasagna into his mouth and Natasha staring at her water bottle.

“Pepper’s worried about him too,” Tony offered, feeling compelled to justify concern over the one and only Captain America. He squashed on the niggling feeling of guilt that he should’ve taken her request more seriously and checked on Steve days ago.

“He’s been secretive, moody, keeping to himself more than usual.” Natasha looked up at the door. “I’ve tried asking him about it, but he gets defensive and shuts down. Won’t tell me anything.”

“You think our Boy Scout poster boy is on drugs?” Tony asked jokingly.

She gave him a look. “What do we know about the serum? Is it permanent? What are the side effects?”

“Whoa, whoa.” Tony swallowed, holding up his fork to stop her questions. “You really are worried about him.”

“Something isn’t right, Tony.”

Score two for women’s intuition, he mused. He finished off the lasagna and set the fork in the empty container, still watching the door. There were options available to him, though he felt a little unsettled at taking any of them. Finally, he stood up and dumped the container into the sink. “Let me try talking to him.” 

He could feel her eyes on his back as he crossed the room to Steve’s door.

It took several minutes and he had to knock four times before the doorknob turned and Steve opened the door. Tony almost took a step back. Steve was one of the neatest people that Tony had ever met, but he looked decidedly rumpled. His shirt was wrinkled and his hair was sticking up at odd angles, far from the carefully combed look he usually wore. Behind him, Tony could see that Steve had every window covered so the only light in the room was the desk lamp. Static buzzed quietly from the old radio that Steve had insisted on keeping.

“Yes?” Steve asked. Even his voice sounded frayed.

“Agent Romanoff and I were thinking of heading out. Doing some sight-seeing.” He jerked a thumb back over his shoulder toward Natasha. “There’s an old statue of you over by Lady Liberty, thought you might want to see it.”

“No,” Steve said immediately, his tone uncharacteristically sharp. He blinked and his eyes seemed to focus for the first time, as though he was only just recognizing Tony. “I mean, no. Thank you. I’m not really interested. Have a good time.”

The door closed before Tony could say anything else. He took a couple steps back, staring at the door as though it might turn into a portal into an alternate universe where Steve wasn’t really Steve. Something was definitely going on and that couldn’t be good for any of them.

“Got any of those brilliant ideas?” Natasha asked quietly.

Tony rubbed at his forehead. “JARVIS, activate the Heimdall protocol, subject Steven Rogers. I want everything you can get. Everything.”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS responded.

“Heimdall?” Natasha asked.

“Norse mythology reference.” He turned away from Steve’s door and headed back to the kitchen, this time for a beer. “When will Fury want to know that the Captain has gone off his rocker?”

“Yesterday.”

“Right, so we give Steve a week and then we have an Avengers intervention. If that doesn’t work, we bring in SHIELD.” Tony held out a beer to Natasha and set the rest of the six-pack on the table. He churned idea after idea over in his mind, trying to figure out what might have happened to cause Steve to retreat to the point that he was forgetting to iron his t-shirts and comb his hair. That just wasn’t like Steve.

He made a mental note to buy Pepper flowers and something with far too many diamonds.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve heard the static in his sleep now. 

He heard it in his nightmares; the ones where he could feel the ice beginning to creep up his legs and wrap around his arms, sliding over his body with cold, menacing certainty. Every time he broke free from its grasp, it kept coming; he could never escape. He woke frantic and clawing at the blankets until he was certain that he was clear of the ice. It felt more real and more terrifying with each passing night.

Sometimes, in his dreams, he managed to escape the ice only to hear a voice calling out for help. When he turned around, he saw Bucky reaching for him, but he was never fast enough or strong enough and, night after night, Bucky was ripped away from him by the terrible grip of the ice.

After he pulled himself out of bed every morning, he started his watch. His station was the desk chair and the target was the old radio. Or, rather, whatever was trying to communicate to him through the old radio. He couldn’t explain the sense of urgency that he felt, the bitter desperation at the back of his throat. Time was slipping through his fingers and each moment was closer to a moment too late to stop whatever was happening.

He wondered if he’d simply gone insane.

Periodically, JARVIS would remind him to eat. Steve obeyed mechanically, knowing in the back of his mind that not listening to the voice in the walls would garner more attention from the others. He didn’t want to be disturbed so he followed JARVIS’ promptings as though they were direct orders, but even as he went through the motions, the static buzzed in his ears and he strained to catch the bits and pieces of the voice.

After weeks of listening, he didn’t know much more than when he’d first heard the voice. He knew that the person was trapped, whoever they were, and that they were in pain. He could hear it in their voice and, in the middle of the night, when he would wake to the sound of eerie, agonized screaming coming from the old radio. Whether it was a man or a woman, he couldn’t be completely certain, but his instincts told him that the voice was familiar. He grew increasingly convinced that he knew that voice and that made him all the more determined to discover a way to communicate.

He hunted through the library and every bookstore he could find for books about the paranormal and the supernatural. He scoured them for answers, deciding that most of them were useless. There were too many theories and most of them were either ridiculous or contradictory. He read about ghosts and manifestations, about energies and dimensional theory; none of it gave him a way forward. In the end, he decided that the best course of action was to focus on what he did know. And what he knew was that someone was trying to speak to him. That meant he had to listen, had to be there to hear every word.

He shifted in the chair; the light of the desk lamp cast a warm glow over the old radio. The static crackled.

“I’m here,” he said softly.

Only static answered him.

He licked his lips, daring to speak the name that had been on the tip of his tongue for days. He was afraid to let himself believe it might be possible. 

“Bucky?”

The static crackled and a thin, tortured wail began to emanate from the speakers, its sound made brittle and reedy by the old electronics. Steve clenched his hands into fists against his thighs. There was nothing he could do or say to stop whatever torturous hell the poor soul was trapped in. If it was Bucky’s soul, trapped and unable to move on, he had to find a way to save him. He reached for the pile of books that he’d already read, hoping desperately that one of them contained answers that he’d simply missed the first time. 

There had to be a way.

He read until his eyes burned and JARVIS told him it was time to sleep. Unsteadily, he got to his feet and his leg caught the corner of the desk. It pivoted sharply, sliding against the carpet and tumbling both the lamp and the old radio off of the edge. With a pop, the bulb in the desk lamp went out and the room fell into total darkness.

Steve fumbled, feeling his way to righting the desk and replacing the lamp. As he picked up the old radio, he was surprised that it moved freely. Tentatively, he pulled on the thin power cord until he felt the plug between his fingers. It wasn’t plugged in. His stomach twisted and his blood ran like ice water in his veins. In the darkness, the sound of static continued to emanate from the speakers, unbroken and unaffected by the lack of electricity.

Feeling for the chair, he sat down heavily. His grip on the radio was putting dents in the old metal, but he couldn’t force his hands to loosen.

_“Help me.”_


	4. Chapter 4

Tony called everyone except for Steve down to Bruce’s lab. He kept his arms folded across his chest as they entered, considering what he had to tell them and how they might take it. He was mostly sure that none of them would try to kill him. At least, not as long as Bruce was around.

“Where’s Cap? Isn’t this supposed to be an intervention?” Clint asked as he sat down. He always looked uncomfortable in the lab, his eyes darting everywhere.

“It might not be an intervention after all. At least, not that kind.” Tony braced himself for what he knew was coming. “First, I need to tell you about Heimdall.”

“Who?” Clint looked around again.

“Mythological figure,” Bruce explained. “Norse in origin. The Gatekeeper of Asgard. I guess he’s probably real too.”

Tony picked up a tablet and began to bring up the displays around them. The ethically dubious cat had to come out of the bag some time; he figured this was as good a time as any. “The thing about Heimdall is that he can see and hear what’s going on here on Earth all the way from Asgard. That’s sort of his thing. Seeing, hearing, watching everyone.” Seeing the look on Natasha’s face, he held up one hand. “Yes, I programmed JARVIS to spy on you. On everyone in this building actually. That’s what the Heimdall protocol is.”

Natasha’s expression remained carefully neutral, which didn’t mean that she wasn’t planning half a dozen ways to remove parts of his body. “Was this SHIELD’s idea?”

“Do you really think I’d hand SHIELD that kind of intel on any of us? I’m the only one who can initiate the protocol and I’m the only one who has access to what JARVIS collects. And I’m not sorry. I will promise that I won’t point JARVIS at you unless you don’t give me any other choice. So don’t pull a Steve.” He gave them a few moments to digest that information before he continued. “A week ago, I had JARVIS start monitoring Steve. Full spectrum, audio, visual, the works.” He motioned to a display on the right. An image of Steve came into focus. He was sitting at the foot of his bed, staring down at the battered old radio in his hands. “This is what he’s been doing.”

“Listening to the radio?” Bruce asked incredulously.

“It’s not even plugged in,” Clint added.

“Thank you, eagle eyes. Now here’s the audio, amplified enough that the rest of us can hear it. Just listen.” Tony tapped the screen and waited. He’d already been over the footage a hundred times and had JARVIS analyze it a thousand different ways. Silence filled the room, heavy and thick, as the others stared at the screen. It was hard not to notice how different Steve looked. There were dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks had hollowed, even though JARVIS said that he was still eating at least two meals a day. The sound was low but unmistakable. 

“The radio,” Bruce whispered. “Is that static coming from the radio? How?”

“Keep listening.” Seconds crawled by and the hairs on the back of Tony’s neck were already standing on edge just knowing what was coming.

_“Help me.”_

He tapped the screen again and the audio stopped. He was ready to repeat it as many times as it took for the others to believe that it was real. The first time he’d isolated the voice from the static, he’d nearly jumped out of his own skin. Suddenly, the problem had gone from Steve needing a really good therapist to Steve needing a really good exorcist. Tony had always believed there was nothing out there that science couldn’t explain and he couldn’t figure out, once he had all of the variables, but the voice buried in the audio tripped the supernatural weird-o-meter in a way that set his teeth on edge.

“What the hell?” Clint demanded, eyes wide and mirroring the horror that Tony felt. “Is the radio talking to him?”

“It’s something coming through the radio. I’ve isolated the exact frequency but I can’t figure out where it’s coming from. It’s like it’s coming from everywhere around us, converging on the Tower itself. Maybe resonating through the building superstructure somehow.” Tony dragged his fingers across the tablet to bring up the spectrum analysis graphs. Only Bruce would be able to make sense of them, but he felt better putting concrete evidence in front of everyone. Maybe it was only evidence that Steve wasn’t a raving lunatic, but that was still something. “The radio is picking up this frequency and it’s carrying enough energy that it comes through even when the radio isn’t plugged in.”

“Stark Tower is haunted?”

“I don’t know,” Tony admitted. “I don’t know what this is. But it doesn’t seem to be affecting any of us. Why just Steve? Is it a question of proximity or exposure? I don’t have any answers. For now, it appears that we have a genuine supernatural mystery on our hands.” 

Clint shook his head. “Because aliens from outer space weren’t weird enough.”

Tony wished for the thousandth time that he could find the source of the frequency. There were dozens of experiments he could think of that might yield answers, but all of them required experimenting on the old radio and a few of them required experimenting on Steve. He’d ruled those out on account of the fact that he actually liked Steve. He skipped to the next video sample and boosted the volume once again. They all watched as Steve lay curled up tightly on the bed, his head buried in his arms. Beside him was the old radio, its cord dangling uselessly over the side of the bed. A blood curdling scream of pain and terror was coming from the radio. Steve was visibly shaking.

Natasha’s grip on her chair had tightened until her knuckles were white. “We have to get that thing away from him.”

“Agreed.” Tony cut off the audio. “And I need to get my hands on it if I’m going to figure out what’s going on.”

Bruce was the first to realize the implications. “I doubt Steve’s going to hand it over. If it is influencing him. If it’s something that has intelligence and if it’s doing this to Steve deliberately, it’s even possible that it could be controlling him somehow. It could be altering his brain waves…thought patterns, affecting his judgment, his moods.”

“He needs help,” Natasha insisted. “We have to do something.”

Tony only half listened as the others went back and forth about how they might approach Steve about his possessed radio. If only Steve had kept the Bose™, which had been a perfectly good radio and not likely to be a one-way conduit to a Hell dimension. When he’d thought through all of the possibilities, regardless of how crazy they sounded, Tony had decided that it was highly improbable that Steve’s radio was picking up signals from a place full of unicorns and rainbows. It could even be a trick; magic or an illusion, to lure them into saving someone who didn’t exist. The tortured screaming could very well be the cheese in the Avengers mouse trap.

Clint spoke up, keeping his voice low. “I know of someone who might be able to help. He sort of specializes in weird stuff.”

“When can he be here?” Tony set aside the tablet. “And who is this guy?”

“He goes by Doctor Strange.”

“Get him here yesterday. We need a plan to get Steve out of his room and away from that radio.” Tony took in the somber expressions around him. “Something short of having Bruce Hulk out and forcibly remove him from his room. I would prefer a plan with less potential for property damage.”

“So would I,” Bruce said quickly. “Have we tried just talking to him?”

“I can barely get him to open his door. The cleaning staff is about to stage a coup.”

“We could lure him out and hit him over the head,” Clint offered. He shrugged when they all stared at him. “We’d have to hit him pretty hard, I guess.”

“We are not hitting Captain America over the head.”

“Anyone have a really big net?”

“Clint, this is serious,” Natasha scolded.

“I am being serious, Nat.” Clint leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “He’s a super soldier. He’s _the_ super soldier. Unless we can get Thor on the phone, Steve’s stronger than all of us except Hulk. If he’s gone off the deep end, I’m not going anywhere near him. If you tell me I can shoot him, from a safe distance, fine. Will tranqs even work on this guy?”

“There’s always the suit,” Tony suggested.

“Guys, guys.” Bruce waved his hands. “Let’s try talking to him first. As his friends.”

“Right. We try diplomacy first and when that doesn’t work, I’ll get the suit and Barton can shoot him. Avengers intervention is a go.”

“Sir, if I may make a suggestion,” JARVIS said primly.

“Sure, J. Let’s hear it.”

“With the proper frequency modulation, I may be able to counteract the energy signature coming through the radio.”

Tony grinned. “That’s why I love you, J.”


	5. Chapter 5

The knocking sounded far away and alien. Part of Steve’s mind recognized it as someone –Tony – pounding on the door to his suite, but it didn’t seem real. All that felt real was the hum and buzz of the static in his ears.

“Captain Rogers, sir,” JARVIS said quietly. “They want to help you.”

Steve shook his head, frustrated, and leaned closer to the radio. The strain of trying to focus on the voice buried in the static made his head ache, but he refused to give up. If he kept listening, sooner or later he would hear something that would tell him how to find Bucky. Then he could save him.

JARVIS’s voice broke the stillness again, but it seemed clear and loud this time, like the sharp ring of a bell. “Captain Rogers. Open the door.”

Rubbing at the ache in his forehead, Steve left the chair and stumbled toward the door in the darkness. The static buzzed louder; he hesitated when he grasped the doorknob. He could hear Tony’s voice on the other side but it was nothing more than noise.

“Open the door,” JARVIS repeated.

Steve obeyed. He winced as light flooded in from the living area. 

“Cap,” Tony began, his voice too loud and grating on Steve’s ears. “There’s something we’d like to have a nice, non-violent conversation about.”

Steve stared sightlessly, trying to focus on the faces in front of him. “I’m busy,” he said automatically and moved to close the door.

“Listen to him,” JARVIS commanded, his voice cutting through the static in Steve’s ears.

Steve let his hand fall to his side.

Tony smiled. “How about you come out and take a seat?”

“Go with them, Captain,” JARVIS said.

Steve let Natasha take his arm and lead him toward one of the couches. He sat down, unsettled. The world wasn’t coming into focus around him. He watched Clint and Bruce disappear into his room and he knew he didn’t want them there. Before he could move or say anything, JARVIS was telling him to stay with Natasha and Tony. He obeyed.

“This is unreal,” Natasha whispered to Tony.

“We’ve got to get him as far away from that radio as possible. JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir. Captain Rogers, go with Agent Romanoff. A walk will do you good.”

Steve stood up, waiting expectantly for Natasha to lead the way. She kept up a stream of words as they walked, the fingers of her right hand resting lightly on the back of his elbow.

After an hour had gone by, he realized he had a cup of coffee in his hands and they were in Central Park. He managed to answer a few of her questions. His thoughts felt as though they were stuck fast in a kind of tar; his mind was sluggish and unresponsive. It took another hour for him to realize that Natasha’s words had a pattern to them and that she was asking questions in circles, gauging his reactions and waiting for something to change.

“Where are we?” he asked suddenly. 

They were sitting in the back corner of a café of some kind, but it wasn’t familiar. He frowned as he scanned over the dining space. Cracks in the tile and hints of painted over stains on the walls told him that it was old, but well worn and carefully tended. The narrow booths were clean and there was a round faced gentleman carrying plates of food from the kitchen; the name tag on his apron read Tahar.

“Little place I like to go sometimes,” Natasha answered. “Welcome back.”

Steve found a glass of water in his hand and raised it to his lips. He felt strange, as though his mind was coming back in bits and pieces. From the look on her face, he realized that something had happened. She was worried. The last thing he remembered was the old radio and then JARVIS’ voice resounding like a cathedral bell inside his mind. 

The radio. Bucky.

He swallowed, afraid to meet her gaze. “Does Tony have any idea what’s going on?”

“Your radio is picking up some sort of signal. That’s what you’ve been hearing. And it appears to be affecting your mind as well. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from yet, but you know Tony, he loves his puzzles.” She waited a beat, watching him. “It’s real, Steve. What you’ve heard, it’s real.”

“So I’m not crazy.” He took another swallow of water.

“We’re still not sure you’re all there either.” Her eyes darted over his face warily, but her voice wasn’t unkind.

Placing his palms flat on the table so his hands would stop shaking, he took several deep breaths. Getting away from the static felt like coming out of the ice again; he didn’t know how long they’d been away from the Tower or where they’d gone as Natasha had led him through the city streets. He had no idea how long he’d been lost in the haze of the static, but it had been long enough for the Avengers to take action. “Thank you.” 

“Whatever you think you’ve heard coming from that radio,” she spoke very carefully.

“I know. I shouldn’t get my hopes up. It’s probably just sunspots or something.” Suddenly, he realized that he was starving and reached for the menu. “Is the food any good here?”

“The best. Stark wants us back at the Tower soon, there’s someone he’d like you to meet. But it can wait. Get whatever you want.”

When the chef stopped by their table, Natasha switched easily from English to his native tongue – whatever that was - and before Steve could ask, he had jotted down the names of the dishes and nodded encouragingly at Steve.

“Don’t worry. You’ll love it,” Natasha reassured him.

She settled back into easy conversation, seemingly talking about nothing more important than the weather, but continuing to test his attention and awareness. He played along. Maybe agents like Natasha were never really off the clock. He wasn’t disappointed by the food and ate until he couldn’t swallow another mouthful, trying to answer her questions between bites. The combination of the food and Natasha talking eased the heavy fog that had settled in around him. By the time he had finished every last crumb and paid for the meal, night had fallen and the streets of New York had come alive with bright, LED displays.

“Who’s back at the Tower?” He gave her an apologetic smile. “Is it a doctor?”

“He used to be. It’s someone who might be able to help you, that’s all that matters.” She held up both hands in a pacifying gesture. “All I know.”

Steve considered that as they walked, once again letting her lead the way. By the time the elevator doors slid open on the residential floor, he was nervous. Too many questions had piled up in his head on the way back. He could hear the static again, creeping into his mind in an almost tangible way and beginning to muddle his thoughts. There was only one man in the living room that he didn’t recognize; he was tall and his black hair was brushed with wide strokes of white. He had green eyes and wore a sleek, black suit that did little to hide the large, ornate swath of gold buckles over his chest. All of Steve’s self-doubt came crashing back in as the man moved toward him with effortless confidence.

“Captain Rogers,” the man said as he grasped Steve’s hand.

Steve felt a jolt of electricity shoot up his arm and he stumbled, unable to speak. He had to hold on to the man’s hand to stay on his feet, letting himself be led to a couch so he could collapse. As he blinked, the tingling began to recede. The static was gone.

“What was that?” he asked the man.

“You may call me Doctor Strange.” He settled onto the couch beside Steve. His motions were smooth and well practiced as he turned Steve’s wrist, pressing his fingers against the side to take a measure of his pulse. “How do you feel?”

Steve felt unsteady and dizzy, like the world had just pulled out from under him and all the sounds of this terrible, new, modern world were rushing back in to fill the space where the static had been. “I can’t hear the static anymore,” he finally answered, keeping the rest of his inner turmoil to himself. 

“I have temporarily isolated you from the connection to the dimension from which this energy is coming.”

“What? No!” Steve sat up straight. He wouldn’t be able to find Bucky without being able to hear his voice. The thought of leaving his friend trapped in agony and fear for eternity made Steve sick to his stomach. He almost reached out to grab hold of Doctor Strange; to make him understand that he had to do something. He couldn’t sit and do nothing. In this world, he was as antique as the radio and just as useless; he hated it. “You don’t understand. It’s my friend, it’s Bucky. I have to help him.”

Tony stepped forward, his brow knit with concern. “Steve.” 

“He’s trapped somewhere and I have to help him,” Steve insisted fiercely. He turned back to Doctor Strange, desperate. “Tell me how to get to this dimension or whatever it is. I have to find him.”

Doctor Strange studied him for several long moments before he nodded. “I can open a doorway for you, but the world it will lead you to is a dark one. You will face great danger there.”

“I’ll do it,” Steve said immediately.

“Yeah, no. He can’t do that,” Tony interrupted. “No field trips to the Hellmouth. And he’s definitely not going alone.”

“None of the rest of you are affected,” Doctor Strange said firmly. “Captain Rogers may be able to survive the realm where this energy is coming from. The rest of you would surely perish, even with your suit of armor, Mr. Stark. You must trust me.”

Tony clearly didn’t like the idea. He folded his arms and glared sullenly at Doctor Strange. “Tell us what we can do, not what we can’t. If we can’t go with him, then what? Sit here and watch Real Housewives?” 

Doctor Strange glanced around the room. “I will need an open space. Move the furniture away from the center of the room.”

Steve was the first to start moving. He hurried to slide couches, armchairs, and tables up against the wall. The living room felt strange, almost cavernous, with the center laid bare. Doctor Strange positioned himself in the center and began to make a series of complex gestures with his hands. His motions were crisp, with the precision of a surgeon. As he gestured, Steve became aware of a strange buzzing against his skin; the hairs on his arms stood on end like they were charged by lightning. 

“The world you will find beyond is a place of shadow and of death, Captain Rogers. Time is of the essence. You must return as quickly as possible.” Doctor Strange paused, motioning for Steve to come closer. His hands moved swiftly, pressing in light touches over Steve’s shoulders, chest, wrists, and forehead. “I have provided you what protection I can. It will buy you time.”

Steve nodded that he understood the risk. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he held onto his conviction that this was – _finally_ – something he could do. There was nothing he could do about everything had happened during the seventy years that he was in the ice and nothing he could do to get back anything or anyone that he’d lost, but this, he could do. He’d gone after Bucky before; he’d plunged out of an airplane with enemy fire whizzing past his ears and pulled Bucky and the others out of the jaws of death. He could do it again.

Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, Doctor Strange produced a large, circular amulet on a golden chain. He lifted it over Steve’s head and let the chain settle around Steve’s neck. “This will guide you and give you eyes in the darkness. Trust what it reveals, for it sees only the truth.”

“Are we really going to let him do this?” Tony hissed loudly, his face turned toward Bruce. “Fury will have our asses if his prize monkey disappears into some twisted version of Wonderland.”

“I’ll be back. I promise.” Steve hoped that he sounded confident instead of terrified. 

“For us, it will be but minutes,” Doctor Strange directed his words to Tony. He turned his back to them and made a series of sharp gestures in the air. 

The shift was subtle; the air directly in front of the sorcerer turned to a smooth, liquid surface. Behind it, the room was still visible, but as though seen through distorted glass. Steve clenched his fists at his sides and took a deep breath, ready to step forward.

“Wait! Steve,” Natasha called out. When he turned, he saw her holding his shield. She stopped at the perimeter of the room and tossed it into the air.

He caught it, scarcely believing he’d completely forgotten about it, and settled its weight comfortably onto his right arm. He gave Natasha a quick nod in thanks. Turning back to the unsettling shimmer in the air ahead of him, he squared his shoulders and stepped through.

**

“Fury is going to kill us,” Tony said the instant after Steve vanished into thin air. “Steve is a national treasure. Officially. He’s registered and everything. We can’t just make another one.”

Doctor Strange turned abruptly, his green eyes intense. “Who is Bucky?”

“Old war buddy of Cap’s.” Tony shrugged. “He’s been dead for decades. Steve thinks he’s going after a ghost.” He saw Natasha and Clint exchange a look that made him think they knew a lot more about the Captain’s old friend than he did.

Doctor Strange considered that and then sighed heavily. “He will be disappointed then. The consciousness that has reached out to Captain Rogers from that dimension is not and never was a mortal man named Bucky.” He settled down on one of the couches, his gaze on the still shimmering pool of air. “It is not even human.”

“Wait, what?”

“Mr. Stark, allow me to explain,” Doctor Strange continued evenly. “I could not sever the connection completely. It was draining Captain Rogers of his life force and of his very sanity. In time, it would have driven him mad and, eventually, killed him. But I do not believe this was intentional, no more than a drowning man means to harm his rescuer. I felt no animosity, only pain and desperation; the desire to survive. Captain Rogers must have been as a beacon in the darkness and the creature merely latched onto his energy as it struggled to break itself free. To be rid of its influence, he must find a way to release the creature from that world. There is no other way.”

Tony closed his eyes and tried to think of what Pepper would want him to do. Finally, he turned away from the creepy doorway into a different world and the equally creepy Doctor Strange. “I need a drink.”


	6. Chapter 6

The Other World was nothing like the forests of Europe. It was purely alien; a stark canvas washed in blue and purple.

Steve stumbled. The surface beneath him was glass smooth, offering no traction. It was cold to the touch and hard as rock. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw nothing that appeared to be organic or alive. The entire world was made of crystal, cleaved into a variety of geometric shapes. He had entered into a narrow valley with walls of jutting crystals, some of them as wide as he was tall, rising up around him. It reminded him of an Escher picture with impossible angles and endless surfaces stretching out around all around him. 

The world could have been beautiful, he thought; if there had been sunlight enough to catch the crystals and light them up. It would have been a world made of enormous glittering gemstones beneath a brighter star. The diffuse blue light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere – was there even a sun at all? – made everything dull and flat instead of gleaming. There was no dust or dirt, just the smooth, unblemished surface of the crystal beneath his feet. He could see distorted reflections of his face in the facets around him. 

There was a strange texture to the air, half smell and half taste; he had no name for it but imagined it might be what diamond would taste like if it were ground to a powder and laced with spent gunpowder.

He touched the golden amulet around his neck and felt a seam in the metal the instant before it opened and faint light beamed out. In the ambient blue of the Other World, he couldn’t be certain of the true color of the amulet’s light, but it formed a bright spot against the crystal that he could follow where it led. He settled into an easy pace, faster than walking but slower than running. There was no sound in this strange world; only the beating of his heart and the harsh sound of air rasping through his throat. He listened intently, expecting to hear the ever-familiar static or perhaps the cry for help that had haunted him for so long, but there was only still, perfect silence of a barren world. Even the strike of his boots against the crystal was muffled, making only the barest sound and all of the echoes were swallowed up by the silence.

Without Bucky’s voice to guide him, he had to put his trust in the amulet that Doctor Strange had given him. His stomach churned uneasily. He knew nothing about Doctor Strange other than he’d told Steve this was the world where he would find Bucky.

There were dozens of oddly shaped columns of crystals as he wound his way through the narrow gorge, though he couldn’t discern any mechanism or method for them to have formed. It was only once the space had widened into a broad, flat plateau that he stopped to take a closer look. One column stood alone; a jumbled pile of shattered and fractured crystals. As he peered closer, he saw a shape beneath the surface. It was a creature of some kind, frozen like an insect in a bubble of amber, with enormous jaws, great, terrible teeth, and wickedly curving claws. He shivered, eying the landscape around him with new respect. 

Carefully, he followed the thin beam of light from the amulet, trusting it to lead him toward what he sought. As he walked, he became acutely aware of the utter lack of life around him. There were more creatures frozen, some fantastic and beyond imagination. With so many of them, he could believe that he’d stumbled onto what had once been a battleground of men and monsters. He had to consider the possibility that, somehow, Bucky could be trapped in any one of the distorted columns. Despite the amulet’s beam staying steadily on the ground in front of him, guiding him on as Doctor Strange had promised, he peered inside every column that he passed. Many were empty and hollow. 

His heart started pounding when he found the first man trapped inside a column of crystal. Chunks of flesh were missing, revealing part of the man’s skull and the bones of one arm. His mouth was open wide, teeth and jawbone exposed, as though he’d been swallowed mid-scream. 

Steve shuddered, forced to stop and take a deep breath as memories of the ice forced their way into the forefront of his mind. His skin crawled with the phantom sensation of ice settling in around him, holding him in a grip of iron and draining him of energy, of life. He felt claustrophobic, panting in the still air, and it was several minutes before he was able to regain control over his breathing. Grimly, he tightened his grip on his shield and kept moving.

The path he followed twisted and turned; he reminded himself that it would only be minutes for the others; he felt as though he’d been walking for hours. Flickering light from the amulet led him down into another chasm. Enormous crystals jutted out above him, growing thicker and thicker until they blocked out the bruised sky completely. He tried not to think about being trapped underground in the strange world where not even SHIELD could find him. Sweat trickled down his back as he pressed forward, although the temperature of the air around him never seemed to change. 

He rounded a corner and the light from the amulet suddenly blazed, lighting up a strangely shaped column of crystal. Cautiously, he approached the column, but he couldn’t see anything trapped within it. Another twisted column had broken off from one side of the first. And another. Each successive crystal was more misshapen and malformed, as though the crystal had been trying to contain something that refused to hold still.

Bucky.

He shifted his grip on the shield so he could place both hands on the crystal, following and tracing the cracks and fissures of the tumbling stone. With slow, careful steps, he followed the progression of twisted columns, using the amulet to peer into the heart of the crystal. He could see exactly when Bucky had fallen to his knees, unable to stand under the onslaught, mirrored in the shapes of the crystal. Then he had crawled.

Steve’s heart was pounding furiously when he reached the end of the row and the amulet finally revealed a dark shape locked within the stone at his feet. He could make out the shape of what could be a man with dark, almost black skin. He blinked repeatedly, but the image in front of him didn’t change. The light from the amulet spread out over the jumbled crystals and pulsed softly, as though telling him this was what he’d come for.

It couldn’t be Bucky.

His stomach fell and he sunk into a crouch, holding onto his shield to keep from collapsing in despair. Whatever lay trapped in the crystal, it wasn’t Bucky. He didn’t know who – _or what_ – it could be. Judging from the creatures he’d found within the other columns of crystal, he couldn’t even be sure that it wasn’t better to leave it there. Memories of the ice forming around him returned in sickening clarity; how it had trapped and numbed him until he’d had no choice but to accept Death. He knew exactly what kind of terror the creature within the crystal felt. He shuddered, thinking of the agonized screaming he’d heard coming from the radio. This creature had fought against the crystal with everything it had and Steve was its only hope. 

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t Bucky. 

He ran his hands over the crystal, searching for a spot that looked weaker than the rest. He didn’t know how the crystal worked, if he could even break it, or what would happen once he did. When he found a spot that looked promising, he caught the edges of his shield and raised it up above his head. The edge of the shield struck hard against a joint between two crystal faces and he heard it crack like cannon fire in the stillness.

Crystal shattered and fell away in sloughs of wickedly sharp shards. He cleared away the pieces as quickly as he could without slicing his fingers open on the edges. What he uncovered was a naked man, about his height, still breathing, but horribly thin; long hair as black as ink covered the man’s face. In the light of the amulet, Steve could see that the man’s skin was a dark blue rather than black, and covered with raised, geometric markings. He stripped off his jacket and carefully wrapped it around the man’s waist, averting his eyes as he zipped it up and tied the sleeves tightly. The man’s skin seemed to hang loosely from his bones; Steve could count every rib. Fresh blood made dark patterns over the bed of crystal shards around him.

A shift in the broken crystal around Steve’s feet caught his attention. As he watched, pieces of the crystal began to join together and reform into a larger stone. The hair on the back of his neck rose as he realized that the crystal was actively spreading over his feet. It was as though the world around him had now seen him for the first time, his presence revealed by breaking the man’s crystal tomb, and knew that he didn’t belong.

He used the edge of his shield to break apart the crystal that had already formed around his feet and hurriedly wrapped his arms around the man’s limp body. The crystal had begun to creep once again over the man as well and Steve had to strain to pull him loose. He leveraged the man into a fireman’s carry and stood up; the man was shockingly, disturbingly light. The beam of the amulet’s light pulsed again. He followed it, hurrying as quickly as he could.

Around him, he heard fissures begin deep within the crystals and the world was no longer silent but filled with sharp booming within its depths. In a flash of intuition, he realized that it was not a world of empty rock, but a living, sentient world made of crystal. It didn’t merely trap creatures in its cold embrace, they were its food. That was why some of the crystal columns were hollow; its prey had been fully devoured. He pushed himself to move faster, holding tight to the man over his shoulder. It felt like hours before the crystals above him began to thin and he could see the dark blue sky above. The ground beneath him seemed to shiver.

On the plateau, he tried to tell himself that the columns hadn’t moved, but then he realized that they were still moving, twisting and crowding in around him, trying to block his way. His lungs burned as he tried to outrun the monstrous faces trapped within the crystal. He looked down, trying to keep his footing on the slick rock, and saw that the man’s skin color had changed. It was no longer dark blue, but lighter than Steve’s. The shock of seeing the change startled him enough that he slipped and slid down an incline into a narrow ravine. As he fell, he tried to roll to his left side to take the brunt of the impact.

When he finally stopped sliding, he lay gasping for breath for several minutes. Finally, he forced himself to move. Above, the crystal continued to crack and pop. It crept with terrible purpose and he could feel its hunger on the air.

Steve looked around for an escape route. The light from the amulet pointed upward, but he knew there was no chance of climbing out of the ravine. He could barely raise his arms. Brushing at a tickle on his upper lip, he was startled to realize his nose was bleeding. Beside him, the man moaned and began to shiver violently. 

“It’s okay,” Steve said automatically. He adjusted his position so he could roll the man over onto his back. When he brushed back the heavy black hair from the man’s face, he nearly choked. 

Loki, of Asgard, wasn’t a face he was likely to forget.

Dark streaks of blood spread out from Loki’s nose, ears, and even his eyes. His lips and teeth were stained with it. The skin of his face looked stretched too tight over his cheekbones and Steve felt his stomach twist.

The muscles in Loki’s throat moved briefly and he took a breath that looked painful. “Fool,” he whispered. “You should not have come.”

Steve thought that was a strange thing to say, though he couldn’t entirely disagree. He looked around, noting the places where the crystal had begun to creep closer, waiting for them to be too exhausted to escape. “You asked for help. I came,” he answered lamely.

There was no answer and Steve thought Loki might have fallen back into unconsciousness. He could hardly bear to look at him. Loki or not, enemy and villain or not, it was a terrible sight. His eyes were sunken and the skin around them nearly black. Dozens of cuts from the razor edged shards of crystal were oozing blood. Steve winced as he watched Loki exhale shakily, then held his own breath as he waited for the next inhale to begin. 

Rubbing at the blood that was steadily dripping from his nose, he tried to clear his mind and focus. He needed to think, but he couldn’t seem to keep his thoughts from falling apart. The crystal world was bearing down on them, its intent palpable. Steve didn’t know how much longer he could carry Loki and he didn’t know much longer Loki could survive being nearly eaten alive. He didn’t know if the others would be able to come for him or if he even wanted them to. Doctor Strange had said the others wouldn’t survive, but Steve was beginning to wonder if even the Doctor had known the true nature of this world. He did know that if he didn’t move soon, they would both be lost to the crystal and doomed to die a slow, agonizing death. 

He looked away from Loki, unable to watch the unsteady progression of breaths where each one could be the last. A dark, desperate thought crept into his mind. Without Loki to carry, there was still a chance that he might be able to make it back to the portal and escape the same, horrible fate. He couldn’t bring himself to leave Loki behind for the crystal to devour slowly; it would be kinder to end his suffering now. 

Eyes closed tightly, he swallowed hard, tasting blood and bile. The others would understand, they would agree that it had been the only way. After all, Loki had caused the death of hundreds of innocent people. He’d taken control of Clint, turning him against friends and allies, and he’d murdered Phil Coulson in cold blood; he would have killed them all. If the situation were reversed, Steve had little doubt that Loki would spend no more than a moment’s thought before snapping Steve’s neck and leaving his body for the crystal to feed upon.

Part of him wanted nothing more than to simply lie down and wait for the end to come. His energy was almost gone. His muscles ached, his lungs burned, and the unnatural nosebleed was probably just the beginning. No doubt, he would soon wear the same gruesome mask of blood that Loki did. For the first time, Steve faced the idea that he was dying, that the crystal world had already begun to devour him. The strange quality in the air, with the taste and smell that he couldn’t name, had begun to digest him from the inside out. It was likely that the protective wards that Doctor Strange had placed on him and Erskine’s serum were the only reasons he’d made it this far. 

Loki coughed, a hoarse, rasping sound that reminded Steve of his mother dying. Steve forced his eyes open and turned, half expecting to see that the crystal had already begun to reclaim what he had taken from it.

Loki’s face twisted in pain. He held up his right hand and it shook violently. “Take…take…”

Steve reached out and caught Loki’s hand. He could feel every single bone jutting out from beneath the paper-thin skin. The protest that he wasn’t a priest never made it past his lips; he had no doubt that Loki would scorn any fumbling attempt on his part to perform last rites. A heavy sense relief settled onto his shoulders and he waited, glad that at least one terrible choice had been made for him. Faint light appeared beneath Loki’s palm and Steve felt something cold press into his hand. Loki’s head lolled as he slipped back into unconsciousness; his skin had taken on a decidedly blue tinge.

In Steve’s hand was a single apple. It looked green in the strange light of the crystal world. He turned it over in his hands quizzically, but it was obvious that Loki would not be able to explain why he’d wasted energy and magic to give Steve an apple.

His stomach growled as though he hadn’t eaten in days and his mouth watered. Sweet juice, with a flavor he’d never tasted before, exploded over his tongue when he bit into the apple. He gulped it down and ate every bit of it, like a starving man, even the core and the seeds, and then licked every last drop of juice from his fingers. Suddenly guilty, he couldn’t bring himself to look at Loki, painfully aware that Loki had clearly not eaten in a long time.

The light from the amulet pulsed again and caught his attention. It focused on a shallow depression in the wall of the ravine.  
Steve was surprised to realize that he felt better. Warmth was spreading through him and clearing away the aching in his muscles. His mind seemed to clear. His fatigue was fading rapidly; he felt as though he could run forever now. Suddenly, he was confident that he could get them both out of this world. He looked around, gauging the progress of the creeping crystal. 

He had to move now or it would be too late.

Grabbing hold of his shield, he slid and slipped toward the spot where the amulet was pointing. He could almost make out shapes behind the crystal wall. He moved back several steps and hurled the shield toward the spot indicated by the beam of light. The shield left a deep crack in the crystal and bounced back. Two more strikes increased the crack until it began to spread rapidly through the surface of the crystal. He hurried back to Loki, using the shield to shatter the bits of crystal that had begun to latch onto Loki’s arms and legs. Behind him, the side of the ravine came crashing down with a howl that seemed more alive than merely rocks sliding together. There was an answering shriek somewhere above him. Crystal columns were breaking and shattering and he could see chunks of them tumbling down into the ravine with deliberate menace.

He lifted Loki into his arms, carrying him like a child, and carefully made his way through the ruined piles of crystal. On the other side, the amulet’s light darted down a twisting path. He pulled Loki tighter, his shield in front of them as protection, and began to run. Twice, he barely managed to avoid being struck down by giant skewers of crystal that came bursting from the walls around him. The whole world seemed to shake around him.

Ahead, he saw the shimmering bank of air that indicated the doorway between this world and his own. The light of the amulet caught it and it lit up as bright as lightning. He pushed himself to run faster. 

He barreled through the doorway and into the bright, beautiful lights of Stark Tower and all the chaos of the modern world. With Loki still cradled against his chest, he stumbled to a halt and then sunk to his knees. As his eyes adjusted to the light, his first thought was that he was going to have to apologize to Tony for bleeding on the carpet.

Bruce hurried forward, his brow furrowed with concern. When he saw Loki, concern turned to horror and he recoiled sharply.

Steve eased Loki onto the carpet. He stayed on his hands and knees, barely holding himself up as he tried to catch his breath. In normal light, it was even more apparent that there was little left of Loki other than skin and bones. His skin was sallow and blackened in large patches over his chest and arms, as though burned. But he was still breathing; he was still alive.

“We need Thor,” Steve panted, breathless from his desperate run. He sought out Doctor Strange. “Think you can help us with that too, Doc?”

Doctor Strange nodded solemnly. “I will send word to Asgard.”

“Did you know who it was, Strange?” Tony demanded.

Doctor Strange didn’t answer immediately and the look on his face was troubled. “I did not sense an Asgardian. Not at that time.”

“There were lots of other creatures there, trapped like him.” Steve settled back onto his heels, rubbing at the drying blood on his lips and nose. “What was that place? Does it have a name? It felt alive, somehow. The whole world.”

“I will need to take a closer look at that realm, indeed.” Doctor Strange came forward to kneel beside Loki. With the same brisk efficiency that he’d shown when he’d inspected Steve, he carefully checked Loki’s vital signs. “The next few hours will be critical to his survival. You reached him only just in time.”

“Let him die,” Clint said harshly. He had one hand on the handle of the gun in his belt and it was half way out of its holster.

Steve pushed himself up onto his feet, placing himself between Clint and Loki. “That’s not our call, Clint.”

“We can give Thor a body just as easily.”

Tony cocked his head toward Clint. “When the God of Thunder shows up, you want to hand him the dead body of his brother. And tell him what, it was an accident? That sounds like a good way to start an interstellar war.”

A muscle in Clint’s jaw twitched. “We’re sure as hell not going to save him.”

Steve held up both hands, trying to think of a way to defuse the situation. The last thing they needed was for Clint to go off half-cocked and start firing bullets in a room full of people. “For now, Loki can’t hurt anyone, but we’ll take precautions until Thor gets here. Tony can figure out a way to contain him once he’s awake. A cell, a room, something.”

Doctor Strange glanced over his shoulder. “Doctor Banner, I believe you have experience dealing with people in extreme cases of starvation and malnutrition. His physiology should be similar enough.”

Bruce nodded slowly. His voice sounded strained when he spoke. “I’ll do what I can. I’ll need to set up. In the lab. Give me a half hour at least, Steve. Before…before you bring him down.”

“I’ve got the perfect place for him,” Tony offered. He moved to Bruce’s side a little protectively. “Come on, Clint. You can lift the heavy things, that’ll make you feel better.”

In moments, Steve was alone with only Doctor Strange and Loki. He realized that he hadn’t noticed Natasha slip from the room until she returned with some of his clothes. Her expression was blank as she held them out.

“You’re the closest to his size,” she said simply. She settled on one of the couches, her gaze never leaving Loki for more than a second.

Steve awkwardly dressed Loki in the t-shirt and sweat pants. Beneath his skin, Loki’s pulse was too rapid and irregular, but his breathing was steady. He was cold to the touch. Steve pulled one of the soft, woven blankets from the couch and laid it carefully over Loki, then he headed for the kitchen. He dug a washcloth out of one of drawers and soaked it in warm water. Lightly, he wiped away the dried blood from Loki’s face and neck. There wasn’t much more he could do until Bruce was ready. He didn’t pay much attention when Doctor Strange pulled Natasha aside, speaking to her in tones low enough that Steve couldn’t make out the words. 

He settled onto the nearest couch, watching Loki’s chest rise and fall in a slow rhythm. He wondered how Loki had become trapped in that world. Had he escaped Asgard and been unlucky enough to stumble into it? Or had he been sent there? Steve considered the possibility that he might have just broken Loki out of Asgard’s death row. 

“I’m sorry it wasn’t your friend,” Natasha said as she took a seat beside him.

Steve shook his head quickly. “I’m not. I wouldn’t wish that world on anyone. I’m glad it wasn’t Bucky.” He tried to smile at her. “Wanting it to be Bucky was just me hiding from the truth.”

“The truth?”

“Bucky’s gone. Everyone and everything I knew is gone.”

She let her hand rest gently on his arm for just a moment. “You should let Bruce check you out too.”

“I feel fine.”

“Humor me.” She smiled without any trace of humor as she stood up. “SHIELD will want to be sure there are no adverse affects from being in another dimension.” Her gaze darted toward Doctor Strange for a moment but her smile never faltered.

Steve was relieved when JARVIS finally told him that Bruce was ready. He carefully lifted Loki from the floor, holding him as gently as possible as he carried him to the elevator. When he reached the lab, there was no sign of Clint. Tony was pulling cables as he walked, several were wrapped around his arm and he had one clenched between his teeth. 

“In there.” Bruce motioned to a narrow hospital style bed that had been placed in the center of a small room. “We’ll start with basic electrolytes, try to get his system back in balance, and go from there.”

Steve followed Bruce’s directions to the letter. He laid Loki on the bed and wiped alcohol swabs over the skin on the inside of his forearm. He kept a light hold on Loki’s arm as Bruce worked to insert the IV needles. After that, all he could do was get out of the way as Bruce adjusted the fluid drip rates and secured the tubing that ran from the bags on the metal stand to Loki’s arm. He watched as Bruce attached sensors that would monitor Loki’s vital signs. The irregular heartbeat suddenly flashed up onto the monitor screen and sounded out an awkward rhythm.

Bruce glanced quickly at Steve. “His heart might have suffered permanent damage. We really should get him back to Asgard. I’m sure anything I can do here is primitive compared the care he’d get there.”

Steve didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure that Loki hadn’t been deliberately sent to that world as punishment for his attack on Earth. 

With a cable still between his teeth, Tony entered the room and began plugging the cable ends into various pieces of equipment. He pulled the cable from his mouth last and climbed onto a table to jam it into the back of a surveillance camera. Hands on his hips, he surveyed the room for several long moments before appearing to be satisfied with his work. He hopped down from the table and moved to stand beside Steve. “I’ve wired the room so that JARVIS has complete control over every piece of equipment in here. In milliseconds, I can turn it into an electrified cage that could hold an elephant. Not sure if that much of a zap will kill an Asgardian or just piss him off. Guess we’ll find out when he wakes up.” He paused and frowned thoughtfully. “If he wakes up.”

“Is there a chair or something?” Steve looked quickly around the room. “I’m going to stay.”

“Steve, it could be hours, or even days, before we see any change in his condition,” Bruce said.

“Let JARVIS babysit,” Tony added quickly. “He doesn’t need sleep and he’s not covered with blood.” 

Steve reached up, feeling the dried blood on his face and realizing how he probably looked. “I guess I should get cleaned up.”

Bruce nodded toward the doorway. “There’s a place to wash up down the hall. First door on your left.”

“Thanks.” 

Steve left the room reluctantly. The bathroom down the hall was brightly lit and looked like it belonged in a hospital. When he saw his reflection in the mirror, he had to reach for the sides of the sink and take hold of the edges to steady himself. His hair was chaos; his face flushed as though he had a fever. The dried blood colored his lips and chin and more was splattered gruesomely over the front of his t-shirt. He hadn’t realized that he’d lost that much blood. He stripped off the t-shirt and used paper towels from the dispenser to scrub his skin clean. Once he was satisfied, he tossed the pile of paper towels and left the bathroom with the t-shirt clutched in his hand. There was probably no chance of saving the fabric.

Tony met him at the doorway to the room where Loki was. “Why don’t you get changed and get some rest?”

Irritation stirred. Steve tried to brush it away. “I’m fine. You guys don’t need to be worried.”

Tony’s expression was unreadable. “Sure thing, Cap. But I promised Pepper that I’d make sure you got a hot shower. You know women, they worry.”

Steve didn’t buy it, but he ceded that the others had every right to worry about him. He’d been lost and isolated in the static for too long for them to take him at his word. His own memories were muddled and blurry; he couldn’t be certain how long he’d sat in his room listening to the old radio. And when they had trusted him to go after the voice that was haunting him, he’d brought back one of their biggest enemies. He returned to the residential floor without arguing any further; he couldn’t blame any of them for thinking that he’d lost his mind. He showered and changed into clean jeans and a fresh t-shirt. When he was done, the cleaning staff had arrived and they were anxiously waiting to get into his rooms.

Face burning with embarrassment, he retreated to the kitchen area and found Tony sitting at the table. Bruce and Natasha were arguing over how much coriander to add to whatever was cooking in a large pot on the stove.

“Is there anyone…” Steve trailed off when he saw Clint leaning against the wall by the refrigerator.

“JARVIS has it covered,” Tony answered. “If Loki so much as blinks, he’ll let us know.”

Steve took a seat at the table. “Thanks. All of you. I don’t think I’ve been myself for awhile.” 

“Loki has that affect on people,” Clint said icily. “What happens now?”

“We need to tell Fury,” Natasha said over her shoulder. 

Bruce finally gave up arguing with Natasha and turned away from the stove. “We need to tell Thor.” 

“Doctor Creepy is on that one,” Tony interjected.

“And if Asgard is the reason that Loki was trapped in that place?” Steve asked quietly, looking down at his hands rather than face the others.

“He’s kind of a bad guy, Steve,” Bruce answered.

“No one deserves that. What I saw, what that world is. No one deserves that.” 

“Loki does,” Clint interrupted; his voice was taut and brittle with anger.

Steve kept his gaze on his hands. The silence was broken only by the faint sound of bubbling water and the wooden spoon striking the side of the pot as Natasha stirred. He thought of the books he’d read about everything that had come to light after the War had ended, about Hitler’s concentration camps and one of darkest chapters in human history. He forced himself to open his mouth and keep talking. “While I was in the ice, is that what we’ve become? A country that tortures people and hands over people knowing that’s what will happen to them.” He finally looked up at the faces of his friends and teammates.

“Steve. This is different,” Bruce began. He looked troubled, but sympathetic.

“Is it? I was gone for seventy years and I don’t understand this world. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be now, what I’m supposed to stand for. I’m supposed to be Captain America but I don’t even know what that means anymore. Does it mean anything at all?” No one spoke up and, now that he was talking, it felt like the words wouldn’t stop coming. “I’ve been clinging onto what I knew and what I had, not because I’m afraid of letting go, but because there’s nothing here for me to grab onto. I can’t help thinking that it’s all gone wrong. This country, the whole world. It’s gone wrong and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if anyone can fix it. And if it can’t be fixed, then what I am? Who am I? Sure, I can throw punches and take out bad guys. But I don’t even know who the bad guys are half the time and...” he hesitated, trying to choose his words carefully. “I know you that can’t defeat evil by becoming evil. If Asgard is going to send him back to that place or if SHIELD will torture him, I can’t…I won’t let that happen.”

“How about we vote on it?” Clint asked sharply. “All in favor of not caring what happens to the murdering bastard, raise your hand.”

“Clint.” Natasha gave him a hard look. “We’re not voting on this.”

“Like hell we aren’t.”

Steve took a deep breath. “I’m not going to ask for permission to do what’s right.”

“This is bullshit, Cap.” Clint pushed away from the wall and stormed out of the kitchen.

“Clint-”

“Let him go,” Natasha said quickly.

Steve looked to Tony, but couldn’t bring himself to voice the doubts in his head. Seeming to understand, Tony shook his head slightly. 

Tense silence settled over the room. Steve sat awkwardly, staring down at his hands, until the food was ready and Natasha slid a plate piled high with spaghetti and meatballs onto the table in front of him. The four of them ate without speaking. Once dinner was finished, Natasha stayed to help Steve clean up and wash the dishes.

“This isn’t easy for Clint. You have to know that,” Natasha said lightly as she dried and put away the last of the plates, tucking the dishcloth over the stove handle to dry. 

Steve wiped at the tabletop without seeing what he was doing. Now that he’d opened the door for the jumbled tangle of thoughts in his head, he could scarcely keep track of them all. It was as though the static had numbed his mind and, now that there was only silence, it was making up for lost time. “Does he blame himself for what happened while Loki was controlling him?”

“More than he lets on.” She folded her arms, her expression neutral. “Why didn’t you leave Loki there?”

Steve finished wiping down the table. He took a deep breath before he straightened up and rinsed out the sponge he’d been using, his focus on the minute details of cleaning rather than trying to sort through the chaos of thoughts and emotions inside him. “I almost did.”

“Then you made a choice. A choice to bring one of our enemies here. This is Clint’s home, Steve. You have no idea what that means to him. What it means to have Loki here.”

Her words stung. Turning away from the sink, he started out of the kitchen and headed for his room. The cleaning staff had finished; he could smell the bleach they’d used even before he opened the door.

“Steve,” she called after him.

He paused, not quite turning his head far enough to see her over his shoulder. “This is my home too, Natasha. It’s all I have.”


	7. Chapter 7

Fifteen minutes before the clock beside Steve’s bed read midnight, he marked his spot in the old, worn edition of the _All the King’s Men_ with an equally old and worn _Captain America_ trading card – it had been Phil Coulson’s once – and slipped silently from his room. He made his way down to the research lab, looking up at the surveillance camera for a long moment before he left the elevator. 

He wondered if JARVIS had a soul of some kind. The modern world was vibrantly alive with electricity and he didn’t think the world’s religions had been prepared to grapple with the idea of a technological soul.

The door to the room where Loki was opened before Steve reached it, as though JARVIS had known he would be coming. He left the lights off. Only the glow from the machinery hooked up to monitor Loki cast light into the room. The heart monitor showed a steady pulse, no longer weak and irregular. At some point, Bruce had added another IV bag to the metal stand. Steve stood beside the narrow hospital bed for several minutes, watching the slow rise and fall of Loki’s chest. There was none of the arrogance or strength that he remembered Loki having; he looked brittle and fragile. Steve let his fingertips settle lightly on Loki’s forearm. His skin was cold and dry, as though he was made entirely of the snow that fell only in the bitterest of winters.

Loki also looked younger when he was sleeping, perhaps no older than Steve had been when Erskine found him and offered him a chance to change his Fate. Although he knew that Loki was centuries old in Earth’s years, Steve wondered if he was, perhaps, still young in Asgardian chronology. He stood for a long time, watching and considering why and how Loki had reached out to Steve from the crystal world. He knew less about Loki’s magic than he knew about Tony’s technology.

“Captain Rogers.” JARVIS was a strangely comforting voice in the darkness. “Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff are on their way to this floor. I have alerted Mister Stark. He wants to know if you wish to leave before this room is locked and all access is barred.”

“I’ll stay,” Steve answered. He stirred himself into motion again. 

Someone had brought a chair into the room. He set it beside Loki’s bed and settled in to wait, his book resting lightly on his lap. Only minutes passed before he saw the handle of the door start to turn, going only as far as the lock would allow. He had no doubt that Clint and Natasha would try to find a way past JARVIS and, together, they were certainly resourceful enough to do it.

A fist – probably Clint’s – slammed against the outside of the door in a wordless expression of aborted anger.

“JARVIS, tell them that even if they find a way in, I will stop them,” Steve said.

“Yes, sir.”

Steve heard JARVIS’ voice echoing faintly outside in the hallway. There was a long stretch of silence and then another sharp blow to the door.

Clint’s shout was muffled but understandable. “Goddamn it, Rogers.” 

A low murmur of voices hummed outside the door and then Natasha’s voice came over the speakers as clear as if she was standing inside the room. “Steve, this may be the only chance we ever get to stop Loki once and for all.”

“Killing Loki now isn’t going to make you feel better. Either of you,” Steve answered, trusting JARVIS to relay his words. 

“I’d like to test that theory.” Clint’s tone cut like an arrow.

Steve tried to keep his voice calm. “It’s not your responsibility to stop him.”

“Someone has to,” Natasha countered.

“Someone already has. He can’t fight back. He’s barely alive. You want him to suffer, I get that, and he has suffered. If you’d seen what I saw in that world, you’d know that. Neither of you know what it feels like to be trapped and helpless and know that you’re dying, slowly, by inches. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” He knew exactly how that felt.

“You’re not going to make me feel bad for the bastard,” Clint snarled.

“I know.” Steve leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. “But I’m staying until Director Fury gets here.” He had figured neither Clint nor Natasha would go to Fury immediately; they wanted Loki dead more than they wanted him in SHIELD custody, so he’d made the call himself. “You can either spend the rest of the night trying to get in here or you can go get some sleep.”

Only silence answered him. 

The last thing Steve wanted was to fight Clint and Natasha. He raked his fingers through his hair, trying to sort through his tangled thoughts for anything that might make them understand.

Maybe Loki had only given him the apple – or what had looked like an apple – because he’d hoped that Steve would save them both, but he couldn’t have been certain that Steve wouldn’t leave him there to die. Desperate gamble or not, Loki’s last conscious act had saved Steve’s life. He’d replayed the memories of the crystal world over and over in his head, trying to determine if he’d fallen into one of Loki’s tricks. He couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t, but he was sure that he owed Loki his life. That was a debt he took seriously, even if it only meant a temporary ceasefire until Loki had recovered enough to fight back.

Still, he knew Natasha was right; this might be the only chance any of them had to stop someone as powerful as Loki.

An uneasy feeling settled at the bottom of his stomach. Restless, he checked each of the IV lines from the point where the needles disappeared into Loki’s skin to the bags hanging on the metal stand. The heartbeat monitor continued to sound and draw out a steady pattern. He thought Loki’s heart rate might have sped up just slightly when his fingers brushed over the tape that kept the needles in place, but he couldn’t be sure. Beyond that, Loki was completely unresponsive and lost in darkness while his body tried to recover. 

Finally, Steve picked up his book again and settled back into the chair. He wasn’t going to be getting any sleep anyway. “JARVIS, could you turn on the lights?”

“Of course, Captain.” 

The lights came on slowly, fading from dark to bright gradually enough that the change didn’t hurt his eyes. Feeling self-conscious and more than a little foolish, he opened the book and flipped the pages back to the very beginning. His voice low, he began to read aloud, “Mason City. To get there you follow Highway 58, going northeast out of the city, and it is a good highway and new. Or was new, that day we went up it.”

Around two o’clock in the morning, movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention and he paused to look up. Two of the wall mounted displays were no longer blank. One gave a surveillance camera view of the hallway outside the room; it showed him Clint and Natasha sitting side by side against the wall across from the door. The second screen showed an image from a camera in the main living area and he could see both Tony and Bruce. Tony was stretched out on one of the couches, a glass of some sort of alcohol in his hand and one arm draped over his face, while Bruce sat in an armchair holding a mug of tea.

Stunned, Steve realized that they were listening to him; each of them unable to sleep with Loki in the Tower and passing the time in their own way. He turned his attention back to the book and the next page. 

By five o’clock in the morning, his throat was dry and his voice was beginning to turn rough. When he looked up at the monitors, he saw that Clint’s head was resting on Natasha’s shoulder. In the living area, Tony had switched from booze to coffee. Director Fury was visible on the right side of the screen, his attention directed at something that Steve couldn’t see. He tucked the trading card into the page, closed the book, and set it down on the chair as he stood up. To his surprise, neither Clint nor Natasha did more than look up at him when the door slid open and he stepped out of the room. Clint’s expression was a blank mask. Behind Steve, the door closed and heavy locks slid into place with a dull thud. 

“Fury’s here,” Steve said quietly, his voice strained and hoarse from reading through the night. He held out a hand as a peace offering. Natasha glanced at Clint before she reached up and took Steve’s hand, extending her own to Clint as she stood.

Clint groaned, letting her pull him to his feet and twisting to stretch his back. “I get it, you know.”

“You do?” Steve wasn’t entirely sure what it was or if he understood himself.

“You don’t kick people when they’re down,” Clint answered. “You’re not that guy. I get it. Doesn’t mean I can’t kill Loki the next time he decides to take over the world.”

“I wouldn’t try to stop you if he did.”

With a shrug, Clint started toward the elevator. “Besides, watching you and Fury argue about what to do with him is going to be pretty entertaining. Bet you twenty bucks he mentions his blood pressure.”

“Don’t take that bet, Cap.” One corner of Natasha’s lips quirked into an almost smile.

Steve hadn’t put much thought into what Director Fury’s reaction might be; he’d been more worried about how determined Clint would be to kill Loki. No doubt, SHIELD’s official position on Loki would be complicated by the past and by their tenuous relationship with Asgard. Although Thor appeared to like Earth and its people, it was clear that his enthusiasm wasn’t shared by the rest of Asgard. 

The elevator doors closed and Steve stared up at the illuminated floor numbers. He’d believed that once the War was over, life would be simple again. Since he’d woken up from the ice he’d realized that the War hadn’t ended at all, it had only changed. In his mind, that meant that how they chose to treat their enemies – wherever they were from and whoever or whatever they were – was more important than ever.


	8. Chapter 8

The rendezvous was set for a location in upstate New York. SHIELD made arrangements to transport Loki, still unconscious and clinging to life, in an armored vehicle with nearly two dozen guards. No one was taking any chances. Steve volunteered to ride in the vehicle with Loki. He climbed in, book in hand, and continued reading despite the odd looks from the SHIELD operatives. The _Captain America_ trading card had fallen out at some point, but he remembered how far he’d gotten in the story and found the right page without it. No one asked him why he was reading aloud to an unconscious enemy – he didn’t figure that he had an answer if they did – but no one tried to stop him either.

At the designated location, Bruce disconnected the IVs and carefully peeled away the tape that had kept the tubing in place. The SHIELD agents strapped Loki into the wheeled gurney as securely as possible. Steve thought Loki still looked horribly thin and pale, despite the fact that his vital signs had improved considerably after only one night.

Steve took one end of the gurney and helped lift it out of the armored vehicle and roll it toward the field where they would wait for Thor. It was a grey, overcast day with thick clouds above them threatening rain. The air was still and thick with humidity; he could smell the richness of the earth beneath their feet. Wheels were useless over the grass and dirt, so they carried the gurney away from the road. Director Fury, Maria Hill, and the rest of the Avengers were already there, waiting.

Clouds gathered above them, beginning to churn and roil with the energies that would link their world to Asgard. Even braced for it, the light and sound of the Bifrost activating made Steve jump; he felt the impact of it in the ground beneath his feet. Dust and bits of grass were thrown up around them, forcing them all to shield their faces and eyes. Once the driving wind died down, Steve was surprised to see that Thor was not alone. He was flanked with a half dozen Asgardians dressed in fierce looking armor, each armed with swords and spears.

Thor stepped forward; his expression turned grim when his gaze settled on Loki. “My friends,” he began.

“We found something you lost,” Tony said breezily, gesturing half-heartedly toward Loki. “Thought we’d return it.”

The Asgardians moved out around Thor, half of them going to the gurney were Loki was bound. The others, to Steve’s surprise, came straight for him. They surrounded him, the tips of their spears pointed directly at his throat. He froze, seeing nothing friendly in their faces.

“What the hell is going on?” Fury demanded.

Thor’s gaze stayed locked on Loki as the guards lifted the gurney and returned to the spot where the Bifrost had connected. They were gone in a flash of a light and sudden gust of wind. Once they were gone, Thor turned back to the others. 

“I am sorry, my friends. Steven Rogers must return with me to Asgard. It is my father’s command.” Thor gave Steve a brief smile.

Fury moved forward, placing himself between Thor and the guards surrounding Steve. “I thought mortals weren’t exactly welcome in Asgard. How do I know we’ll get him back?”

“I assure you that no harm will come to him,” Thor answered.

Steve obeyed when the guards surrounding him motioned for him to move toward the Bifrost site. He didn’t figure that they really had a choice. The Asgardians had obviously come prepared to take him back one way or another, he would rather go willingly and uninjured.

Thor joined the guards and Steve on the burned pattern in the earth. “We will return, you have my word.” 

Steve had time to hold his breath before the Bifrost came down around him. He felt as though he was being stretched, pulled, and then snapped back like a rubber band into himself and reality. Rough hands grabbed his arms, pushing him forward none too gently. He didn’t resist, trying not to give them any reason to distrust him. Thor led the way; Steve couldn’t help but gawk as the realm of Asgard opened up around him.

He was overwhelmed with trying to take in the sights and sounds around him. There were buildings with intricate stonework and others that glistened like gemstones in the sunlight. A great ocean stretched out behind them; he could see pathways and archways all around, even far above him where they seemed to float impossibly in the space between buildings. He barely had time to take in the magnitude of what must have been the palace before he was ushered into a spacious throne room. The man on the golden throne could only be Odin.

There was no sign of Loki.

Thor stopped at the bottom of the steps leading up to the throne and lowered to one knee. “Father. This is Steven Rogers. He is a hero and a friend; he is beloved of Midgard.” 

“He is no more than a common thief,” Odin countered sharply. His voice echoed throughout the throne with commanding ferocity. “He is unworthy of Idun’s gift. It is the arrogance of his realm to take it for himself.”

“What?” Steve started to protest. One of the guards behind him slammed the butt of a spear into his back, forcing him to stumble forward and fall to his knees.

“Father.” Thor rose to his feet. “This is one of Loki’s tricks. Surely that is the only explanation.”

Odin’s gaze fell heavily on Steve. “Have you any defense for your crimes against Asgard?”

“Crimes?” Steve repeated, bewildered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Odin stood and started down the steps, moving with surprising agility for a man of great age. “You freed Loki and returned him to Midgard. You took one of Idun’s apples, and its gift, for your own. I offer you one chance to defend your actions. If you cannot, then you will join Loki in his fate.”

Thor’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I gave the people of Midgard my word that he would return unharmed.”

“And I have given him a chance to see that your promise is kept.”

Steve got slowly to his feet, trying not to making any motion that the guards might consider a threat. “You sent Loki to that world,” he said quietly.

Odin’s one eye glinted. “His fate is of his own making. It is not your place to question my judgment. You are a mortal, a creature of dust and mud. Nothing more.”

“I never claimed to be anything else,” Steve said calmly.

“Steven.” Thor moved to his side, forcing the guards away with a hard glare. “I know that my brother must have tricked you into releasing him. Simply tell my father what happened and this will all be over.”

Steve thought of Loki trapped within the crystal, struggling to break free. He thought of the agonized screaming that he’d heard coming from the radio. Asgard – Odin – was the reason that Loki had been swallowed up by the crystal world and nearly devoured. He thought of how Loki’s skin had felt dry and cold, how it had been stretched tightly over too prominent bones; he thought of the fluttering of Loki’s heartbeat as it struggled to continue. The apple Loki had given him, the only thing that had kept them both alive, must have been this Idun’s gift. He couldn’t fathom why an apple could be so important that it offended all of Asgard for him to eat one of them.

The choice before him was to claim that he had been acting wholly under Loki’s influence, which would leave Loki to face whatever further torment the Allfather decided to mete out, alone. Or he could refuse and face the same fate as Loki. 

It wasn’t much of a choice.

He thought about HYDRA and Johann Schmidt and everything that had happened in the seventy years that he’d been lost. Everything he’d done in the War seemed pointless in the face of the concentration camps, atomic bombs, and the wars that had followed. Now he stood in a place with beings that lived forever and had the power of Gods, only to discover that they were no better than mankind, no better than simple creatures of dust and mud. Asgard was a place where a father would send his own son to be eaten alive by a strange, malevolent crystal world. He wondered if Odin had been able to hear Loki screaming; if he knew how desperately Loki had fought to stay alive. 

Loki must have known, Steve realized suddenly, that escaping the crystal world was futile. He must have known the Avengers would return him to Asgard and Odin would once again leave him to die in that dark world. His last act, his choice to give Steve the means to save himself, took on new meaning. It hadn’t been a gamble to save his own life, but a final act of defiance against power that Loki had no hope of defeating; defiance against Odin and Asgard itself.

Steve thought about his shield and what it stood for. The identity of Captain America had never been about winning a war, not to Erskine and not to Steve; it was, and always had been, about standing up for those who couldn’t defend themselves against a more powerful enemy. 

“Steven?” Thor prompted.

Undaunted, Steve met Odin’s gaze. Finally, he felt as though he had a purpose. “Name, Steven Grant Rogers. Rank, Captain. Service number, five four nine eight five eight seven zero.”

**

Deep within the dungeons of Asgard, Loki stirred briefly. His eyes did not open. The only indication that he had risen from the depths of sleep for a moment was the tightening of his fingers around the small rectangle of paper in his hand, its worn surface painted with the image of Captain America.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, ok! You can put down the pitchforks and torches. There won't necessarily be a sequel, but there will be more and there will be answers. The point of this fic was Steve grappling with and reaffirming his identity as Captain America, which he did.


End file.
